


Wayne Family Happenings

by Sir_E_Bellum



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt Harleen Quinzel, Autistic Bruce Wayne, Autistic Damian Wayne, Baby Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne-centric, M/M, Pamela Isley Loves Harleen Quinzel, Protective Clark Kent, Uncle Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_E_Bellum/pseuds/Sir_E_Bellum
Summary: A series of Wayne family headcannons from @nerdymixedpan (https://www.tiktok.com/@nerdymixedpan?lang=en), full of wholesome Superbat and autistic Damian.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Harleen Quinzel/Wade Wilson, Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	1. The Beginning

"You required my presence?" Talia al Ghul asked, bowing as she entered her father's sanctum. Located in the heart of the mountain, more than a kilometre below the League's fortress on Nanda Parbat, the room was little more than a cave. It's walls, carved from the stone, were unadorned, the crystals within them sparkling in the faint glow of the chamber's main feature. The Pit's luminescence was faint, barely enough to see by, the only other light source being a pair of torches along either side of the pool. Though most of the League had modernized— firearms and hacking had been added to mandatory training, for instance, and the bulk of the fortress was lit by LEDs— the Demon's Head had forbidden such technology within his sanctum. One man had suggested an elevator be installed; he'd been found three days later with his heart ripped out and much of his skin removed.

"Your sperm donor was defective," Ra's informed her as he rose from the Lazarus Pit, wrapping himself in a nearby robe. He was quite protective of its waters, and rightly so— a few drops could restore a man to his prime, a single vial could restore him from near-death. By bathing daily in its waters, he had added centuries to his life and survived fatal blows without nary a scratch. But these waters, and the benefits they endowed, had a catch: The more one used them, the less effective they became. Though this reduction was slow, nigh imperceptible, Ra's knew he was ageing. Thus, when Bruce Wayne had arrived at his doorstep, begging to be trained, Ra's had seen a potential successor. And though the boy had refused the title of heir, Talia had managed to . . . procure . . . a sample of his DNA before he left, and from their combined bloodlines came Damian.  
"What?" Of all the possible reasons for her father to have summoned her, Wayne had not even entered Talia's mind. "You selected him yourself. You claimed he would be a better successor than your own blood."

Ra's ignored the bitterness in that statement. "The League would never follow a woman," he stated, as though that settled the matter. "He seemed perfect. I did not learn of his flaw until after the birth, and his deficiency should not have been passed on— I had thought the al Ghul line stronger than this." He studied his daughter critically, as though she was to blame for this weakness.

"Precisely what is the issue?"

"Autism, they call it now. There is nothing that can be done about it, even by these waters. His mind is broken. He is defective," Ra's repeated.

"And what is it you wish me to do about this? Why did you summon me?"'

"The League does not tolerate such weakness. _I_ do not tolerate such weakness, especially in my own grandson. We have his DNA, he can be recreated— altered, this issue removed. The original is unneeded. You created it, it is yours to dispose of." He spoke calmly, without emotion, as though he had remarked on the weather and not ordered the death of his own blood.

“Are you quite certain? He is only an infant, perhaps he will grow out of it.”

Ra’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I am certain. The Demon’s Head does not make mistakes. I am aware you may have . . . attachments to the child, so I will grant you time to make your amends. You will deal with this by dawn in two days time, or I will remove both of you.” With that, he turned his back on his daughter. She was dismissed.

\-----

A maelstrom of emotions swirled through Talia as she removed Damian from the nursery. Anger, yes, and loyalty to her father, but there was also something else. Something new. It was faint, but it felt like . . . love. She had made this child, this fragile thing. She did not want to kill it. Did not want to kill _him_.  
But what to do? Her father demanded absolute loyalty from every member of the League, and doubly so from her. If he found out she had defied him . . . She shuddered slightly at the thought. Then she allow herself a small smile as the realization dawned on her. _If_ he found out.

No one noticed anything out of the ordinary when the League’s jet took off that evening, with only a young woman and an infant on board. Nor did anyone remark when, the following day, the plane returned with only the woman. The child had been eliminated, then disposed of beneath the waves, or so she told Ra’s. And she had intended to do just that. But each time she’d raised her knife, she found herself unable to end the child. Instead, he found himself on the steps of a certain manor, with a note that read, “Bruce. He’s yours. Your condition makes him unsuitable for the League. His name is Damian.”


	2. Becoming Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Covering the events immediately following Chapter 1; baby Damian is discovered.

"Master Bruce?"

"What is it? Did Joker do something?"

"No, sir. He's in Metropolis tonight; meeting with Mister Luthor, I believe."

"Then I'm rather busy at the moment." He was about to continue, but his reply was cut off by one of the Riddler's henchmen shooting him in the chest. It didn't hurt--- the suit could deflect almost anything, a requirement when one was biweekly combating villains with godlike abilities without powers of his own--- but the force of the bullets drove him back half a pace. Nigma must have upgraded his firepower.

"Are you quite alright, Master Bruce?"

Bruce knocked the goon out cold with a blow to the temple before responding. "I'm fine. This suit can withstand a blow from Kent, a bullet is nothing. And don't use my name, you don't know who might be listening in."

"Due respect, sir, but even _you_ couldn't hack this comm line. And I really must request you return to the manor."

"Again, I'm a bit busy at the moment, Alfred," Bruce growled as he incapacitated another henchman. He took the man's security card (a bright green number the size and shape of a Visa with a large purple question mark on it, which identified the goon as John Matthews) and swiped it through a port in the wall. "Nigma isn't going to arrest himself." As the door opened, Bruce saw the Riddler . . . and then he didn't. The man vanished in a red and yellow blur, replaced by a notecard that floated to the floor. "I alerted Mister Allen of the situation," Alfred explained unnecessarily.

Bruce bent down to read the note. _Hey Bats, Alfred told me there was some emergency so I needed to take care of Nigma. Hope it isn't Scarecrow--- that guy gives me the heebie-jeebies._

"Again, Master Bruce, I truly must insist you return to the manor. It's . . . well, you'll have to see for yourself."

Precisely three and a half minutes later, Bruce arrived at Wayne Manor. Upon parking the Batmobile, he emerged and saw Alfred. Holding what appeared to be . . . "That's a baby."

The older man smiled. "They don't call you 'The World's Greatest Detective' for nothing, sir."

"Why--- Why do you have a baby?"

"Strictly speaking, Master Bruce, I don't. _You_ do." He momentarily shifted the child, to his left arm, then procured Talia's letter from a pocket with his right hand, passing it to Bruce.

Hands shaking slightly, Bruce read the note. "That's not possible."

"Quite the contrary, sir. I was doubtful myself, but that is certainly Ms. al Ghul's handwriting. I took the liberty of testing young Master Damian's DNA against your own; the results should be in momentarily." As though on cue, the computer chimed, displaying the following words for both men to see: "50% Match. Paternal Relation Confirmed." After a moment, the machine's automated voice relayed the same information.

"Chance of error," Bruce demanded.

"0.00000001% chance of a false result," was the immediate reply.

"It would seem you are a father, Master Bruce. Congratulations."

"I--- I don't---" Bruce paused, swallowing. "I can't be a father, Alfred. I can't. This is no environment for a child. I don't know what to do. I can't raise a child."

"You had no troubles with children in this line of work when taking on Master Dick, nor for Master Jason. You're brilliant, I suggest you figure it out. Would you like to hold him?"

Before Bruce could protest, the butler carefully laid the baby in his arms. Damian shifted for a few moments, getting comfortable in his arms, before making a soft coo-ing noise and falling asleep. "Support his head, sir," Alfred cautioned, and Bruce quickly adjusted his grip. It was an odd sight indeed, this near-seven-foot tall, black-clad knight who drove terror into the hearts of Gotham's criminals, awkwardly holding a sleeping baby as though it was a grenade about to go off.

Bruce held Damian silently for a few moments, then in a conversational tone said, "Kent. Batcave. Now." The Kryptonian descended onto the mansion's steps perhaps half a minute later, a look of mild confusion on his face. "I heard about Nigma, what's the prob---" he stopped upon seeing Damian. "You have a baby."

Bruce nodded.

"Yours?"

Another nod.

"So what precisely do you need me for?"

"You . . ." Bruce trailed off. "You remember your parents."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Kents or on Krypton? Since I was kind of a toddler when I was sent here."

"The Kents are fine. I never expected to be a parent." Bruce's voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "I probably never should have been, but here we are. I need someone with experience; I don't know what to do."

"Why not ask Alfred?"

"I'm afraid my skills with infants are rather rusty, Master Kent," the butler replied. "Besides, someone must baby-proof the house. We wouldn't want young Master Damian swallowing a Batarang."

Superman chuckled quietly. "The great Batman, with redundant plan upon redundant plan, brought low by a baby."

Bruce glared at him. "Are you going to help or not?"

"Of course. I'll let Ma and Pa know we'll be there in a minute." A brief conversation later, Clark hung up with a "love you. Bye," then spread his arms. "We're expected, let's go."

"Oh no. At the speed you fly, you'll break his neck. Hell, you'll break my neck--- humans should not go those speeds. We're taking the Batplane."

"Batmobile, Batcave, Batplane, you know you don't have to put 'Bat' in front of everything you own," Clark muttered. "Kansas is halfway across the country, it'll take forever to get there."

Bruce smirked. "You've never seen my plane. Alfred---"

"I shall inform Masters Dick and Jason of the situation, should they wake," he interrupted, then retreated into the Manor. 

"Good." Bruce clicked a button on his utility belt, and immediately a section of the hillside opened, revealing a vehicle that could only be described as a modern, bat-shaped jet plane. "Let's go."

\---

Twenty minutes later, a small, seemingly unremarkable farmhouse in central Kansas was disturbed as the aforementioned vehicle landed in the middle of its driveway. The trio disembarked, Bruce still cradling Damian--- they had flown on autopilot, as (though Clark had offered) Bruce had refused to put him down.

Martha and Jonathan Kent emerged onto their front porch upon hearing the sound of the plane's landing. "Clark?" Martha asked.

"Ma! Pa!" the Kryptonian exclaimed, embracing his parents. "This is Brue Wayne."

"May I?" Martha asked, gesturing to Damian. Reluctantly, Bruce handed over the baby, who woke up and stared at her. "He has such intelligent eyes," she remarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if he knew exactly what was happening."

"His brain hasn't developed enough yet, that isn't possible," Bruce replied automatically.

Jonathan chuckled. "Clark wasn't kidding when he said you were green."

Martha shushed him. "Don't be rude." Turning back to Bruce, she said, "There is quite a bit to learn, though, so we'd best get started. I suppose we can skip the flying and the heat vision bits, though--- I take it he's human?"

"Um, yes."

"Lovely. No offence, dear," she smiled at Clark, "but humans are much easier to raise. I remember we woke up and he was plastered to the ceiling one time--- not two years old, and he was stuck eight feet in the air. They don't exactly cover that in the books, but we managed him well enough. Still, there's quite a bit to cover, so we'd best get started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out over a week ago but I had way too much work to do. I hope you enjoy, and I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. As always, please let me know any feedback in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to get this as up to date as possible, but I've never been very good at updating works so we'll see how it goes. Please check out @nerdymixedpan, and as always, let me know any feedback.


End file.
